Wednesday, 8 April 2009


Thon Barbara Woodehouse used to get right on ma diddies and i kinda struggled to tell the difference tween her and Mary Whitehouse. This was probs just an aversion to affirmative, plummy spoken English women, which was nae doots down to my erm....feeelings for the Thatcher woman. Truth is tho, that Babs wiz into dogs so she gets my vote big time.

Over the last 3 months, our wee pal Roxy has been a constant source of soundness - always pleased to see me an Mand and right up for barkin should a stranger come calling. Goa has an extremely low crime rate by Embra standards but thefts in the night (generally perpetrated by westerners on other westerners) are not at all uncommon. The best thing tho has been long morning walks along Patnem and Rajbag beaches to the Talpona river. Roxy and her chums right dig chasing birds along the shoreline - full pelt for a coupla hundred yards then a nonchalent, almost Gallic shrug when the bird wheels out to sea and the dugs pretend they werenae that bothered anyway. (Oh-oh, that's more anthropomorphic than a stupid Disney cartoon or sumfink.)

All we had to do was feed her, deflea her and show her a bitta love and attention - usually just by bein around a bit and ticklin her belly or some such stuff. If life at home was differently arranged, i'd have a dog there too but that aint happenin any time soon cos i'm no really intae coopin up a beast all day in a tenement - that's nae life ataw in ma book.

Anyway, my point? Dugs are barry, they get ye out yer pit early doors (back o 7 most days here), keep you a bit fitter than you woulda been and give back all the love and time you put into them. Roxy'll be back to the hills wi Raju in a few days, havin a rare old time chasin rabbits instead o birds. She'll be fine without us and we'll just have to get over missin her til we're back here next season. Bring that on.


  1. Dugs eh? Aye yer no wrong, they are kinda barry and again yer right with yer synopsis aboot the life ay a city dug. Ah dinnae think ye should be able tae have a dug unless yer properly vetted (nae pun intended), have access tae open spaces and can pick up the dugs shite. Too many wee fannies stoatin aboot trying tae look the hard man wey either a fat dug or a totally malnourished hound barking at strangers. I dinnae blame the dugs, it's all the 'nature vs nuture' thing gaun on. Except they radge dugs doon in Peebles, they were bam sticks. On the route tae a needle in the erse and Good Night Vienna if ye ask me.
    Mind - Ah dugs fir Christmas , no just fir life!

  2. Correcto mundo Mistah D - thon dug in Peebles wiz way outta line. Comme d'habitude in these situations, tis the so called owners to blame. The beast has clearly had nae trainin vis a vis what's cool and what isnae. Rippin a hole in ma fake tweed kecks and chompin a bit out ma ankle clearly isnae cool but the dug nivir kent that.